


Figurative and Literal Shackles

by PoisonKisses



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Light BDSM, Single Tail Whip training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8837053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonKisses/pseuds/PoisonKisses
Summary: Many people ask what Poison Ivy could possibly see in that ridiculous clown girl.Others wonder why Harley spends so much time with a monster.This is a little exploration of how they found what they need in each other.How a loving Domme can help heal abuse.How two damaged people can build trust.





	1. Taste

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write much Ivy/harley. Others do a lot of it, and do it very well.
> 
> I've practiced polyamory before, and understand Poly quite well, so I often pair Ivy off with others (a whole series of those) because the comics show Harley chasing other partners but never hint at Ivy having romances outside of Harley.
> 
> Ivy/harley is my OTP, however, and I wanted to do a little something to warm up. :)
> 
> This turned into a much bigger thing with more BDSM than I originally intended, and there are hints of some very dark things Harley experienced in her past. Be advised.

It's her taste.

I don't mean that in the prurient sense, though there is that too and that is definitely a longer conversation for another time.

She was currently in the manacles, standing on her tip toes with her arms over her head, and I loved running my tongue over her exposed, lithe midriff, feeling her whole body tense, writhe, hearing her moan, and tasting the sweet, salty flavor of her skin--her sweat, just a hint of the strawberry body wash I made and gifted her for her birthday. She'd been sweating, edging, orgasming for the last hour--I hadn't been very merciful, I'd been relentless, I'd kept her panting, begging, and gasping the entire time and perhaps I should have felt a little guilty but I loved this. She loved this.

It just took work to get there.

He's the reason it was such a struggle, of course. Before she met me, he corrupted and twisted her until her perceptions were so polluted it was like trying to clean up the Alaskan shoreline after Exxon-Valdez. His greasy fingerprints are all over her fractured mind, but slowly, ever so slowly, I've been piecing her back together. It's much easier to break something than it is to repair it, and no matter how proficient I am, there will forever be cracks. For the millionth time I wish I'd met her first, been able to guide her into this sort of play. She had no idea I had a taste for it until we stumbled on evidence of what he'd done to her.

We were picking up gear from one of their hideouts in preparation for a theft of some equipment I'd been planning, Harley in her unitard promising to 'only be a minute.' Mildly curious, I'd been exploring the old toy factory they'd stayed in, noting the sort of squalor that made up his living space. I suppose most would have been concerned or afraid, but I am beyond fear of clowns or dolls, and the man himself just fills me with contempt. Prior to meeting her, to learning of the abuse she'd suffered at his hands, he wasn't even on my radar. Now, it's all I can do not to kill the little meatsack on sight...

I'd wandered into what passed as their bedroom--a couple of pallet stacks with an old, stained mattress tossed on top and a pile of blankets and comforters. Broken picture frames and a lamp marked Harley's side of the bed. Harley'd let slip once he only slept a couple of hours a day, and it was fitful at best. I was idly looking around the sad little room when I saw them. Manacles. Made from cold iron and formed crudely with a blowtorch, they hung from a chain thrown up and around one of the rafters. The had simple holes drilled to lock with a padlock, and they were rough, and covered with sharp little burrs of metal. Both were coated in old, dried blood. Suddenly, I understood the odd little pattern of scars that covered her wrists. Not much horrified me, I'd seen my share of terrible things and the process Jason put me through all those years ago was beyond description, but the image forming as I found several leather belts, a dull razor blade covered in old, dried blood, an ashtray full of cigarette butts, a broken broomstick handle, and the needles. Big ones, little ones, hypodermics, safety pins, suddenly had me matching up scars I'd glimpsed on her lithe body (in those days Harley never came out of her unitard, she always wore cloth, chin to toes).

I was trembling with horror and rage by the time she bounded up, her duffel bag full of Joker themed gear. She froze, her eyes immediately defensive. I was running my fingers over one of the manacles.

"Harley," my voice was husky with emotion, very unusual for me. "What is this?"

She tried to play it off. "Oh, well, Mistah J, y'now, he likes to play a little rough. A little slap and tickle." Her eyes were screaming. Pleading for me to drop it. I was so sorry, I couldn't. Not this.

"This is blood, Harley." I gestured at the table. "He cut you? He burned you?"

She stared at the table, biting her lip. She was afraid, I could scent it in the air. Being in here was filling her with anxiety. She looked so small and vulnerable, and that impression only increased when she hugged herself, her shoulders hunching. "I don't expect ya to understand, Red. Mistah J was really...intense. Lotsa pressure. He needed an outlet. So I was that for him." She looked at me, immediately trying to explain. "It was my choice, Red. I consented. Don't be upset, ya don't understand, I'm into kinky stuff too. I...like pain."

I stared at her, and it didn't take long for her to fidget and squirm under my gaze. "You think that's why I'm upset? I don't understand BDSM?" Her eyes were haunted, and I honestly wanted to wrap her up and keep her safe. I swore he'd never lay a finger on her again.

"I...yeah?" She seemed confused, even surprised at my use of the acronym. I came to a decision.

"Grab your things. We're going to postpone the job." I cut her off when her mouth popped open, a look of disappointment crossing her face. "No arguments. There's something important I have to show you."

The drive out of Gotham was quiet at that time of night. Harley looked curious but wasn't speaking, lost in her own thoughts. She was crowded against the door, leaving space between us, and I realized she was afraid I was angry. I wasn't him. I didn't want her to fear my anger. As we crossed the bridge and I turned the car toward the little town my safehouse was in, I said, "Harls?"

She looked at me with a bit of a deer caught in the headlights look. "Y-yes?"

"I'm not mad at you. Nothing here is your fault, ok?" I held out my hand until she nodded and took it. I gave it a squeeze, she smiled almost shyly back.

The little house was unremarkable. I pulled in and shut the garage door, still leading her by the hand and turning on lights as I went. A light lair of dust was over everything, evidence of how long it'd been since I'd last visited. "Ok, we'll stay here tonight. There are two bedrooms. You're welcome to the spare one, but if you'd like, you can take a shower and join me in the master bedroom." Her eyes were huge behind her mask. At that point, we were partners, even friends, but we'd never expressed anything else, we hadn't even stayed in the same place yet. "I'll lay out a change of clothes for you. They may be a little baggy on you, but they'll be enough for the moment." I looked at her pointedly. "I'll leave a jar of my own makeup remover on the bathroom counter for you. I want you to take all of that," and I gestured at her face, "off. I think it's time we got to know one another, don't you?" She nodded slowly, still strangely subdued.

I led her to the hallway, and opened the closet.

Several years ago I'd run a scam where I'd posed as "Mistress Rose," a professional Dominatrix, in order to get close to Gotham's wealthy and powerful and manipulate and control them. It'd been quite successful and gone for several months before Batman took notice of all the environmental initiatives the city's kings of industry were implementing and shut me down. Ironically, I'd learned I was a natural Domme and had a taste for the entire scene, so the scam became a legitimate business I made a substantial amount of money at. I'd stored all my accumulated paraphernalia here--cleaned, bagged, organized into clearly labeled bins, and hung up in dust covers. Outfits, shoes, toys, dildos, strapons, cuffs, rope...I could have supplied a small sex shop with the contents of that closet. Harley's eyes threatened to bug out.

I handed her one of my business cards.  
Mistress Madeleine Rose  
Domination. Power Exchange.  
Professional. Discreet. Irresistible

"Take your time, look through my things. Then go get cleaned up. I'm sure you'll have questions, and I'll answer them in the morning, but come to bed."

She did, but we didn't really sleep. That night we lay together under the covers, face to face, nose to nose, and talked. Really talked. It was, to be honest, the first time we talked as friends and not just partners in crime. I...let her in. For the first time since Jason, I let someone inside my first line of defense. Harley confided in me. In a halting voice, she told me what he'd done, how she'd hung in chains with her arms coated in blood while he hurt her. Never any sex, or pleasure, just him taking his rage out on her flesh, him telling her she needed to be changed to be worthy of him. She cried, and I held her little body as it shook violently with her sobs. I kissed away her tears, stroked her hair, and fell in love with her.

It took time to ease her through the fear and uncertainty, but she was insistent, it was something she said she needed to do. She had a panic attack the first time we slipped soft suede cuffs on her wrists, suffering from a trigger, but I held her close, whispering reassurances to her until she calmed down.

The first time she came from my touch she burst into tears, and I found out she didn't know she even COULD feel pleasure from it all. He'd never been interested in her that way. 

Tonight was intense. I'd given her a safeword--Plantains--but Harley is such a pleaser, she falls so easily into subspace and stays in so deep, that I don't trust her yet to use it, so I was watching her closely for signs that any of it was too much. She's still self-conscious and even guilty over her own pleasure, so each time she orgasmed I made sure to be face to face with her, staring in her eyes, and telling her I was there for her. She still needs those reassurances, needs to know she's loved and wanted.

I don't have a problem with that.

I kissed my way up to her lips, covering with hot, wet kisses, devouring them. I am usually much more precise and skilled when I kiss, but she kissed back, exhausted and sated. I loved the taste of her lips like this, and met her gaze, her eyes cloudy from pleasure. "I'm so proud of you. You've done so well."

She smiled. "God, that was..."

"I know. You were incredible." I reached up to unlock the soft cuffs. "My brave, beautiful Harley..." She was tearing up, and when she was free she almost fell, bonelessly, her legs barely able to hold her up. She laughed, a tear running down her cheek and I kissed it away. It tasted like salt and happiness.

"What are we doing, Red?" she mumbled.

"Red?" I asked, more amused than strict and she quickly corrected.

"Mistress, I meant Mistress!" I kissed her again, unable to get enough, and scooped her up, taking her to the shower.

"It's time for aftercare. First a shower, than serious cuddling. Maybe I'll make some cookies later and let you taste the batter."

She cheered and put her arms around me, and I knew I wanted more. I wanted her just like this...all to myself and not having to share with that grinning fool. I can't make due with just a taste anymore.


	2. Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley didn't know it could be this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has become more explicit than I meant it to.
> 
> I'm borrowing some concepts from Stjepan Sejic's Sunstone series, which I highly recommend if you're not already familiar with it. He does an excellent job explaining BDSM to a comic audience--I've practiced for years and read comics and wouldn't know where to begin without his help. Check it out.

The hot water felt amazing.

The pulse setting was on, and it was a kneading finger of heat on my skin as I stood, facing it, in the little shower--the same shower I shared with Poison Ivy, my Mistress. It was so bizarre to think that, let alone say it, but as I closed my eyes and put my face into the spray, I could feel her sliding a hand around me, cupping my middle and pulling me back into her, possessively, until I could feel the fullness of her breasts against my back, my bottom pressing against her sex (which was bare, I guess it was part of being a plant, but Ivy didn't grow any hair below her eyebrows--she was smooth and hairless even there, which was really hot because I could feel every detail against my bare skin.) I must have sighed, or moaned, because she chuckled and slid her arms fully around me and brushed her lips over my shoulder, nuzzling. I was still barely standing, the time I'd spent in the chains had left me so exhausted and sated I felt like I wanted to sleep for three days straight. I relaxed into her arms, and she held me close with one arm while she fished the sponge off our shower caddy, filled it with a generous portion of body wash, and began lathering it up.

"So, do I call you Mistress now?" I chewed my lip, still unsure about...well...everything. She began to run the sponge over my body, lathering me up with sweet, strawberry scented bubbles. It tingled everywhere it touched, and I couldn't help but sigh in pleasure.

"That's up to you, whatever you're most comfortable with. This is Aftercare, Peanut. No matter how intense the session, this is where we relax and reaffirm our love for each other." She turned me, my soaped up skin slick against hers, and she kissed me. Slow. Sensuous. A long, lazy kiss that felt like it went on for days but I still pouted when she finally broke it. "I love you, Harley."

***Earlier

There were like, a zillion candles lit. They were in little clusters all around the edges of the room, turning it into a series of pools of warm light, and in the very center of the room were the chains, dangling from the ceiling, ending in suede cuffs. I swallowed, feeling the first stab of panic. Ivy'd been working with me for weeks, easing me into this whole cuffs thing. We'd spent a whole night with me just wearing them on my wrists, not attached to the chains, watching TV together. That hadn't been so bad. She'd put me in the chains once, for five minutes, the whole time touching me and speaking to me in her low, sexy voice to keep me calm, emphasizing I was safe. 

It wasn't easy. Being in the cuffs brought it all back, those horrible nights Mistah J...no. Ivy'd told me I had to stop calling him pet names, even in my head. He was the Joker, and he ruined my life, manipulated me, abused me, and tortured me. Hours, literally hours, he'd leave me hanging in the chains, the rough metal of the cuffs cutting into my skin, leaving my arms sticky with blood. I'd dangle there naked while he did things to me. Hurt me. He'd been dispassionate about it, like he was testing me. Poking me and prodding me just to see how I'd react. At the time I thought...no, I don't know what I thought. I was there for him? I was his confidante, the only person who understood him? That was what he told me, when he felt me pulling away, he'd flip that switch and I was right back at his side, deluding myself into thinking I was special to him.

When I was in the chains, and his black, soulless eyes were boring into mine with nothing approaching desire, excitement, or affection, I knew I wasn't special. It was like being tormented by a shark, or a doll. You looked in those eyes and nothing looked back.

Ivy was different. God her eyes. You really don't get it til you get close and look in her fucking eyes. She was gently slipping my wrists into the cuffs, cinching them down just enough to feel snug, but with no risk of cutting off the circulation. She was close to me as I stretched, close enough her breasts were pressing against mine, and she glanced down so that we were nose to nose, lips to lips, and her eyes were the only thing in my field of vision. They're tilted, exotic, with big irises a shade of green that makes you think of new grass shoots, but flecked with a darker green, and framed by thick sooty lashes that make her look like a mascara model. If his are soulless, hers are the opposite. They sparkle with every emotion she's feeling, with passion, and I caught my breath at how warm and inviting they were, holding me in place more surely than any chain.

"Are you ok? Is this ok?" There was concern there. With Ivy I never had to guess, not since that first time in the car, the first time she took my hand and told me it wasn't my fault.

I tried to smile, to be brave. "Y-yeah, I'm good, Red." I chirped it in my best I'm-ok-we're-ok-everything's-ok Harley voice, but it sounded more like a frog croak to my ears. Ivy wasn't buying it.

"If you start to panic or need out, you let me know right away. Do you remember what the safe word is?" When I nodded, she shook her head, slightly. "Say it."

"Plantains." I said it in a small voice. We'd seen some at the market once, and when I called them banannas, she'd corrected me and lectured me about them. From then on when she started in on something as Dr. Pamela Isley, I called it her plantain voice, and so that's what she'd chosen for the word.

"Plantains, what?" Her voice was sharp, one of her perfect brows arching (and seriously, how were they like that? I don't think I've ever seen her with a pair of tweezers outside the lab.)

"Plantains, Mistress." And she smiled such a warm, happy, proud smile, I felt a little thrill run through me. It's so hard to explain what that's like to a person who's never tried being 'a submissive,' that warm rush of pleasure when you please your partner. I've always been a people pleaser, it just came naturally to me, in the same way that Ivy was just naturally Dominant. It was in the very air around her, and people tended to naturally, instinctively submit to her will, even if it was subconsciously.

When she brushed the backs of her knuckles down my cheek I leaned into the touch. "Good. Remember, Harley. In here we are in a safe space, a sacred space. There is no judgement here. This space belongs to only you and I. This is a place of perfect trust. We will explore our limits, learn about ourselves, and even though out there," and she gestured vaguely, "we may be different people, in here, I am your Mistress, and you are my mine. My beautiful plaything. You are giving yourself to me, and I take that responsibility very seriously. You can trust I won't harm you in any lasting way, and I trust you to stop things if it is too much. You have the safeword, and ultimately you have the power to say no." She put both hands on either side of my face, forcing me to stare into her eyes. "You always have the power to say no, Harley. Always. If you use the word, there won't be any punishment or repercussions. Everything stops and we'll talk it out. Ok?"

I nodded, and she smiled. I think there was a part of me, a not small part of me actually, that didn't believe her. How could I? 

"Let's begin."

I learned quickly it wasn't about what she was doing, it was all about the anticipation of what she was about to do. We'd come in wearing our full costumes, and at first I kept quiet as, slowly and methodically, she removed my outfit, starting with my hood. She fluffed my hair, running her gloved fingers through it, and then she took off my mask. She was unzipping me when I finally piped up. "What are you doing, R--Mistress?"

"You came in as Harley Quinn. All this," and she gestured at my costume, "Is armor. It's an identity you wrap yourself in. It protects the real you from those who could hurt you. I'm taking it off because in here you aren't Harley Quinn. Or Dr. Harleen Quinzel, for that matter. In here, you are my harley." She smiled at me as she began cutting away my sleeves. When I was dangling from the chains in a black bra and panties, she came over with a bowl of water (I was starting to realize none of this was spontaneous--she'd planned this out) and began carefully removing my makeup. I swallowed past the lump in my throat--she was so close I could smell the scent of roses, whatever perfume she was wearing. Ivy always smelled amazing.

I was terrified, hanging there naked, watching her carefully strip out of her own costume. Her body was amazing--flawless skin, beautiful curves. Ivy is a work of art, so when she returned to me, her fingertips teasing along my ribs, or my shoulders, and she said, "You are so beautiful, my harley," I couldn't stop myself.

"No, I'm not. I'm scarred and ugly."

She didn't say anything, but I saw her eyes blaze, and for the briefest moment I thought she might hurt me. Then, God, she took the time to kiss every scar on my body, and there were a lot. I was self conscious at first, but her lips felt so good, and I was so helpless, and vulnerable, and I could feel myself getting turned on, so by the time she made it up to my jawline, nuzzling her way toward my ear, with her body brushing against mine just enough to be maddening, every square inch of my skin was tingling and hypersensitive. With her lips to my ear, she purred, "I love your body, and your scars are a part of that. You are not ugly, you are mine."

My eyes were stinging. She said it with so much sincerity I believed her.

She laid it out for me then, her whisper searing into my primal lizard brain. "I'm going to punish you for that, of course. You are going to cum for me, Harley, again and again. I'm making that your payment. I'm going to fuck you, and there's nothing you can do to stop me." It was instant arousal, hearing Ivy actually curse. She never cursed, but the way her voice made the word "fuck" sound was intense.

"Now I want you to say it."

"You're going to fuck me, and I'm going to cum for you." The chains creaked as I pulled on them, meeting her gaze. My heart was hammering in my chest so hard I thought it might burst, her words turning my insides to hot goo. I was so turned on, I could have sworn I felt a trickle running down my inner thigh.

"'You're going to fuck me, and I'm going to cum for you...' what?"

"You're going to fuck me, and I'm going to cum for you, Mistress," I answered, and the look in her eyes as she began to touch me told me it was true.

***Now

The towels were heated and waiting on us. I stepped out of the shower and was enveloped in warmth, and she wrapped my hair in a second towel. She took my hand and led me to the kitchen, sat me down on one of the bar stools and poured me a glass of milk. It was a comfortable silence as she began mixing batter up, and when she turned to hand me a mixing spoon to lick she smiled at me.

"You'll be sore tomorrow. Like you were worked over by the Bat. Lot of muscles you don't normally use."

"I feel like I worked out for three hours."

"In a way, you pretty much did.' She put a pan of cookie dough balls in the oven and poured herself a glass of water.

"I never expected this side of you. I don't know what to think," I confessed.

"It shouldn't come as a huge surprise. I've heard BDSM described as sex for nerds, and according to you and Selina..."

"You're a huge nerd." I finished, then giggled. From the oven, the delicious scent of fresh chocolate chip cookies was escaping. My stomach roared so loud I heard Ivy...giggle. Now THAT was an odd sound. A throaty chuckle, a sexy, wicked laugh, but an indecorous snort and a giggle? "Oh my God! Did I just hear you gigglesnort, Pam-a-lam?!"

Ivy smiled at me--that warm, loving, inviting smile most people would never see, the one that lit up her beautiful face into something, I don't know, transcendent, the one that only Selina and I had ever seen more than once. It made me catch my breath, made my heart skip a beat, and she laid a freshly baked cooking on my plate, chocolate still gooey from the oven and smelling like heaven.

"You did. I'm happy."

So was I.


	3. Sizzle Sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions speak louder than words.

It's not easy for me to express emotion. I legitimately think I told Harley I loved her more times last night, while she was in the chains, naked, writhing under my touch, than I had the entire rest of our comparatively new relationship. 

I left her reluctantly--Harley is like a human furnace, a function of her rapid metabolism courtesy of the Elohim serum I created for her when we first began partnering up. At the time, not fully trusting her, I told her it was just a formula to make her safe around my ambient toxicity, but I'd based it on a rare shrub, Chionanthus caverus, that grows around the Dead Sea--one with extraordinary properties of durability and regeneration. It makes Harley stronger, faster, and tougher than any normal human, but it makes her hyper, complicates her sleep patterns, and keeps her metabolism revved into high gear. She normally runs around 101, which makes for a very warm bed partner, but I run cool, so we match up well, in so many ways.

I held her all night, listening to her light snores. Harley usually talks in her sleep, tosses and turns, but last night she dropped of into a deep slumber, exhausted from the session. She was snoring lightly when I slipped out of bed, kissed her on the cheek, and padded downstairs. I've never been the type to just talk. I act. Actions speak louder than words.

So I decided to make her breakfast.

Bacon, eggs, sausage. I don't eat meat. My metabolism really has no need of it, and factory farm meat production offends me, so I'm functionally a vegan, but Harley is practically a carnivore and consumes meat and processed sugar at an alarming rate. Getting her to eat vegetables is an ordeal. Still, I know my way around the kitchen--I'm an excellent cook. Cooking is just chemistry, and I know chemistry. Soon, I had a delightful sizzle going as I added bacon to a frying pan, and before long Harley found her way to the kitchen, rubbing her eye with one hand and yawning.

She'd pulled on a pair of sleep pants and was wearing an oversized tee shirt, plopped down at the table, and began to messily pull her hair up into the traditional pig tails.

"Hey, Red. Boy, somethin' smells good."

"Good morning, Sweet Pea. Hungry? I thought breakfast would be nice." I smiled at her, and she grinned back.

"Man, I'm sore. I feel like I took on th' whole Justice League by myself."

I was rolling sausage into patties and adding them to the pan with loud sizzles and pops of the hot grease. "I wouldn't recommend that. I tangled with them with a whole team of A-listers at my back and still lost. I told Lex never again."

"Really?" Harley was paying attention now. "Ya nevah talk about your time inna Injustice Gang or whatever."

"There isn't much to tell. We fought, we lost. Most of them went to Belle Reve, I landed in Arkham. Honestly, at the end of the day, I make a terrible supervillain." She grunted at that, focusing on something on her phone, and after a few more minutes, I plated and placed it in front of her, along with a glass of fresh squeezed juice. Then I sat across from her with a cup of tea and a bit of cantaloupe as she dug in with relish. "Good?"

"Oh yeff, ith awefumm!" she mouthed around a bite of eggs. I smirked at her, and then let her eat as I cleaned up, my thoughts churning. She'd done so well last night, and I had to make a choice. Harley would want to explore this path further, and I knew there was a big step coming. "Ok, Red, showah time! Ya comin'?" She sounded hopeful.

"Actually, I'm going to get some work done," I said, flipping open my laptop from where it'd been sitting on the couch, charging. At Harley's disappointed expression, I quickly added, "but if you want, we can watch some TV when you get out and then you can come with me to meet Selina for lunch?"

"Oh, sure, let's do that!" she called, and bounded up the stairs. Once I heard the shower go on, I opened up a browser, typed in an address I hadn't thought of in, well, years, and began paging through the options for ordering a custom collar.


	4. Sweet Shroud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her instructions were simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to write something after Stjepan Sejic basically just posted the art that goes with this series...

"And I...I could have died last night, but I heard the voice of a smaller god." --Darling Violetta

The note had been clear.

I got it when I rolled out of bed around noon, though in my defense it was daylight savings time so _technically_ it was only eleven. Ivy was out, and when I made it downstairs there it was, lying on the counter next to a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice.

Sweetness,

Ran out for errands. Enjoy your afternoon.

At precisely 6 pm, we will begin.

You will be naked, on your knees, and waiting on me when I get home. No makeup, no clothes, no pigtails.

Love,  
Ivy

So here I was, five til six, trembling in the chilly air of the apartment, naked as the day I was born, only with a couple of tattoos and more scars.

Scars HE gave me, but those were faded now.

I used to be self conscious of them. Terrified to let the world see, to feel the judgement that came with them. They were stark against my pale skin, signifiers of my bad choices and worse luck. HIS marks of ownership, and I was rendered merely an extension of him. A prop to be trotted out when he thought it was funny. A toy to toss away when he was done breaking me, leaving me in pieces, rotting in Arkham, and when I put myself back together enough, he'd take me back out to keep breaking me.

Things were different now. I licked my lips, so odd to taste them with no trace of makeup or lipstick. 

Ivy was my best friend. My lover. Now, my Mistress. She scooped me up, put me back together, held me close, favored me with a warmth and affection she showed no one else, not even the plants. I was already aroused, just thinking of waiting for her, thinking of what she'd do to me tonight. I rested on my knees in the middle of the living room in the position she'd taught me--butt resting lightly on my calves, straight up posture, back slightly arched to make my boobs pop out (as much as I had anyway,) hands clasped lightly behind my back, and my eyes fixed on the door (on her when she came through) and I waited, barely able to breathe.

The door opened and she came in.

Pammie

Red

Ivy

Mistress

She was wearing a long coat and had several plastic sacks with her, her gorgeous red curls flowing freely, like a waterfall of fiery copper. She was so beautiful it hurt. My eyes, though, were drawn to her boots, peeking out from the bottom hem of her coat. Sleek and shiny, like latex, but made out of some waxy plant material, with heels so tall they would have been perilous on anyone less proficient in walking in them--Ivy made it look so graceful and natural it was almost scary. 

She shut the door, and smiled at me. Slow. Languorous. Sexy as all fuck. You really have no idea what a turn on Poison Ivy's slow, wicked smile does to you til she favors you with it. It's like a jolt to your lizard brain, your libido, the sex-crazed cavewoman part of you that is buried under lairs upon lairs of civilization and Judeo-Christian Western culture and sexual mores, and that fucking slow curl of the corners of her full, soft, luscious fucking lips is like lighting her own personal bat signal--only instead of saying "WE NEED THE BATMAN TO SAVE THE CITY," it says, "I'M GOING TO FUCK YOU SENSELESS, MAKE YOU CUM TIL YOU CAN'T THINK. YOU. ARE. MINE."

It made my internal monologue alternate between using filthy language and run around in circles shrieking in excitement. I smiled back at her, but it wasn't my patented near-manic Harley grin. It was tenuous, almost shy. Hopeful.

"Well, hello, Sweet Pea. I see you got my message." I nodded. She set down her bags, unbelted her coat and shrugged it off. Underneath, she was wearing a fetishey plant corset and garter belt combo, knee high boots, opera gloves, and all of it fit together. She was sex on two legs, and she posed for me. 

It wasn't what she was wearing, or even that sexy smile, that meant so much. It was the warmth in her eyes, and as she took my hand, pulling me to my feet, as I craned my head up to look at her (she was taller anyway, but in those ridiculous heels with me in bare feet, she was an amazon,) and she led me toward the bedroom, I knew I was safe. I was loved. I was ok.

I was no longer self conscious of the scars.

She took two things out of the bag.

A long stemmed red rose, which she held idly, unafraid of the thorns.

A collar or choker, made out of satin, with a silver metal catch and a small charm that dangled from it.

"Hold out your hands." I did without questioning.

She placed the collar in them. "Look at it. Feel it."

I did. It was made from satin. Somehow I knew it would fit my neck perfectly. The metal catch had a tiny little keyhole, and the dangling charm was engraved. "Ivy's Girl."

I swallowed hard.

"No pressure, Harley." Her use of my name made me look at her. Really look. And I realized she was nervous. Fear isn't an emotion I'd ever attribute to Ivy, but deep inside those perfect green eyes was a concern I'd reject her. "You're allowed to say no. Ultimately, you have the power here, the power to stop this, to say no." She reached into my hands to gently trace the collar. "This is a perfect circle. It's perfect, just as I hope the love and trust we share will be. If you say yes, I want you to wear this. Where you end, I begin. Place your trust in me and I promise to always keep you safe, protect you, care for you. Will you accept it?"

I grinned at her. "Do ya have ta even ask?"

Ivy was serious, though her eyes were kind. "I do, actually. And you have to answer. Yes or no, I need you to consent to this before we can move forward."

My grin faded into a smile. "Well, of course. Yes, I accept it." She smiled at me, and then carefully fastened it around my neck. My whole body tensed, goose bumps, heart pounding as she clasped it, locking it, and then she wore the key around her neck. It fit snugly--I could feel the softness of the satin on my skin, the coolness of the dangling charm on my collar bone. It didn't feel like confinement.

It felt like freedom.

Then, cupping each side of my face in her hands, she kissed me. I was lost in a haze of pleasure. There really isn't anything like being kissed by Ivy, and no words really capture how intense it is. It was electric, and when she finally pulled back and I opened my eyes, hers were glowing that eerie, toxic green--they did that when she was really pulling a lot of power--and I caught my breath.

Her single rose had grown into wall to wall red roses in seconds, and rose petals were slowly drifting down to coat the floor and the bed--a fragrant, sweet shroud over everything.

She laid me down, guiding me to the bed and I felt like I was floating on a cushion of fresh rose petals. She lay next to me, and for what seemed like forever just gazed down at me, her red curls pooling among the petals and it was almost like she was a part of the shroud of red herself. She was so beautiful...my heart ached for her.

"Mine." She said it quietly, one finger tracing my cheek. Her touch was fire. Sweet poison.

"Yours," I agreed.

She made love to me for hours. I lost track of everything--my whole world shrunk to the feel of her fingers inside me, the fullness of her lips as she kissed me, the sound of her deep, purring voice in my ear, moaning or gasping or just telling me how much she loved me. It was pleasure, warmth, love, desire...all the things I'd been denied in every other relationship I'd ever had. I drifted off with her arms around me, possessively pulling me to her, and the last thing I remembered was her purring, "Mine," into my ear.

It was a beautiful dream, and I never wanted to wake from it.


	5. Where There's a Whip, There's a Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selina and Ivy talk about unrequited feelings and fun with leather.

“You and the clown girl? I gotta say, I still can’t believe it.” Selina sipped her wine and shook her head. Across from her, I shrugged one shoulder as I delicately wound spaghetti around my fork. I’ve been accused on several occasions of being a ridiculously dainty eater. Legacy of Mother’s influence on me, I suppose, and her need to make me into a ‘proper Southern lady.’

Whatever that is.

“I know. I honestly thought I was out of the scene, but teaching her drew me back in.” I gave Selina my most pointed look. “She needed me. Well, she needed someone, and I think we’re in unique positions to help someone like her, given who we are.”

Selina considered that, fished a bite of fettuccine out of the delicious sauce it was swimming in, and popped it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “So, you’ve officially collared her and everything?”

“Well,” I said, taking a drink of water to give me a second to collect my thoughts and determine how I’d broach this subject with her. “I’ve given her a collar. I’d like to eventually do a ceremony, and I was hoping you’d be there.”

“Of course. I just...still can’t believe it. What’s she like, this girl who caught the eye of the mighty Poison Ivy?”

“She makes me laugh. She’s funny, strong, but vulnerable. Smart. Attractive.” Ivy smiled at her. “She reminds me what it felt like to be human, I guess. She has a zest for life. I need that.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Selina smiled back, but it was...strained.

It’d been Selina’s idea for me to dip my toes into BDSM in the first place. She’d heard me ranting about the corporate CEOs of Gotham and their perverse, cruel ways and had mentioned offhand, “You’ve got no idea. The things some of them pay people to do. My friend Holly has some stories…”

It turned out, I was a natural. It came as easily to me as breathing did to most people. For several months I’d run a thriving business as a professional Domme, exclusive to the super rich. Twenty thousand a session. All the while, I used my influence to convince captains of industry to go Green...no pheromones necessary. It’d been brilliant! Then Batman shut it down.

We ate in a silence that I could only describe as awkward--unusual for us. I’ve known Selina for many years. We have the special kind of bond that only comes with having tried to kill each other on multiple occasions, and we’re never awkward together. To break the strange vibe the conversation had taken, I blurted, “If I didn’t know better, Selina Kyle, I’d wonder if you were jealous.” I gave a half-hearted laugh. I meant it as a joke, but I’ve never been very good at comedy. There was a pause, Selina was pushing fettuccine around on her plate.

Not meeting my eyes, she murmured, “Maybe I am.”

I froze.

Staring at her, I’m sure my mouth was hanging open. I placed my fork down, struggling to think of what to say to that. She was still not looking up. Instead, she averted her gaze to the side.

“Why her? Pam, why not...why not me?”

Was she crying? Her voice was wavering, I got the impression she was fighting tears.

In truth I’d never thought of her that way. We’d always had a snarky friends vibe. I’d never gotten the impression that she’d be interested in me, romantically or otherwise. Honestly, though I knew Selina was bisexual, I’d always assumed she had a preference for men, given her long term fling with Bruce Wayne.

“I...you’re a switch.” It was all I could think to say. She WAS a switch, I wasn’t wrong, though it seemed like an inadequate response. Selina was good at easily sliding into either role--top or bottom. She herself had worked as a Professional Domme for a time and done some fetish modeling as a submissive before her Catwoman epiphany. Underage and illegal, the work was gross and I’d helped her find all the photos, video, and the assholes responsible early in our careers. Fortunately, none of that had ended up on the internet, but I knew it was a private fear of hers it would resurface--Bruce might see it.

The makers wouldn’t make any more...I’d seen to that.

“I mean, I always assumed you preferred to top women, bottom for men?” It was reasonable, I knew she played the bratty sex kitten with Bruce, but she and her friend Holly had a very clear power dynamic, whether they were sexual with each other or not (and I suspected they had been at some point.)

She laughed, though it held little actual mirth. “Oh, Pam, come on. Look at you. You are hottest anything I’ve ever seen on two legs. Anyone would get on their knees for you. The entire time I was teaching you about D/s, I was practically begging for it. Remember when we were practicing?!”

I did.

***Then

“Now remember, you just want to kiss the skin lightly. You could flay me open with this,” Selina said, putting the coil of soft leather into my hands. “I’ve seen you do it right on the mannequin, so I know you know what to do.” Selina’s eyes were glittering. She was enjoying this, I thought.

“Oh Selina,” I purred, reaching up to lightly run the backs of my knuckles down her smooth cheek. She leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed. “We both know you’re going to enjoy this…”

“Oh my God, what have I done? I’ve created a monster.” She muttered, joking. There was tension, I could feel it, and she was breaking it as best she could with humor. After all, we were only practicing so I could improve my skills. This wasn’t an actual scene, right?

Right?

I hooked a finger through the O ring on her collar and led her across the room, causing her to stumble on the ridiculous heels she was locked into. I was trying to get into the mindset, putting extra sway in my hips and flipping my braid back over my shoulder when I turned my head to look at her with my most sultry “Mistress” expression. For the briefest moment, she stared back at me with an odd expression on her face. Awe? Lust? I almost faltered, but then she caught herself.

“Ooo, Mistress. I’ve been a bad kitty. Better punish me.” She smirked. Selina was wearing a latex bikini, showing off a delicious amount of skin, kitty ears, and a kitty tail. As I stretched to raise her wrists above her head and secure them with the dangling shackles, I glanced down.

We were nose to nose, almost lips to lips, and for a moment I froze. Selina really is a beautiful woman, and I almost said something--asked her if she was ok with this, maybe, because the expression on her face was, again, something I couldn’t place.

I cleared my throat. “Now remember, little kitty. When you’ve had enough…”

“I got this, Mistress. Gimme your best shot.”

The cracks of the whip were loud. Selina’d spent days coaching me how to just lightly touch the skin with the popper, enough to raise a welt, cause a white hot bolt of pain, but do no real damage. Each time I struck, her back would arch, she’d writhe in the bonds, and toward the end, moan. I was beginning to worry I was hurting her too badly.

I coiled the whip, Selina’s back a criss crossed map of raised welts. Her body was slick with sweat, and her eyes were dilated. She was panting. “Are you alright, Selina?”

She looked up at me with sinfully dark eyes. “I...didn’t say...stop.”

***Now

“My Goddess, I remember.” I said quietly. She nodded.

“Did you think I was pretending everytime you used the whip, or a flogger, or spanked me? I KNOW you could tell how excited I was the first time you spanked me. It was literally dripping down my leg.”

It was my turn to look away. “I don’t know. I guess I just assumed you were a bit of a pain-slut to go with the adrenaline junkie thing.”

“Well, I am, but honestly, Pam, it had as much to do with the spanker as it did the spanking.”

I stared at my spaghetti for a long moment. “Selina, I don’t know what to do with this.”

She sighed. “I know. I didn’t mean to spring this on you. I should have kept my mouth shut. Yeah, I’m jealous. Kinda hurt. I don’t get what the little clown girl has that I don’t. But Pam…” She leaned forward and captured my hand. “If you’re happy, I’m happy. I’ll always be your friend. You know that, right?”

“Same.” I said. “But, you and Bruce?”

“He’s had ample opportunity to make us exclusive and still hasn’t. So yeah, now you know, and if something ever happens and we’re both available…”

“I don’t know, you’re such a brat. It would be nonstop punishment.” Selina laughed, taking a sip of wine.

“Well, that sounds like a feature, not a bug to me.”

***Later

I was...concerned. Since Harley and I’d entered into this arrangement, she liked to constantly text and stay in touch, and I hadn’t heard from her all afternoon. I knew something was wrong when I got to the door, and it was hanging open by a crack.

My stomach plummeted, dread my only emotion.

Carefully I connected with the plants inside, confirming no one was home. Once I entered, I knew what it was when I saw the crumpled piece of paper, smudged and even damp in spots from tears. It was Harley’s handwriting--big loopy letters and hearts to dot her eyes, like she was perpetually a 14 year old girl writing about who she loves on her folders.

_Pammie,_

_I’m sorry. He found me and we’re gonna try again. I’m so happy he remembered. I know you think otherwise, but he loves me, he really does. He said he had to go through Oswald to figure out where I was._

_Thanks for everything. I’ve had so much fun with you. Gonna be with my fella for a while, but I’ll be in touch later!_

_Love and kisses,  
Harley Quinn_

It was wrong. Something was wrong. I dropped the letter and picked up her collar, turning it over in my hands.

The Satin was torn.

Harley hadn’t taken this off, it was ripped away.

Dread, sorrow, self pity. I’d been feeling them. The idea that Harley would do this to me again, despite how far we’d come together since that night with her in the shackles had been eating at me.

But now, now I was feeling something different. Something purer. Something primal. An old, welcome friend.

Rage.


	6. Things Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley realizes that things are different now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gets pretty dark, with some non-con, as we explore the difference in Harley's experiences with the Joker and Poison Ivy.
> 
> This is the penultimate chapter and will be concluded with the next one, called Harley's Choice.
> 
> Enjoy!

***Then

I hung in the chains, exhausted. My muscles ached from constant use--the need to stand on my tip toes to relieve the pressure on my wrists where the iron cruelly bit into my flesh. My arms were tacky with dried sweat and blood where the rough metal had shredded my skin. My back was fire, the welts covering it like a road map of pain, and they were still bleeding, the trickle of warm liquid running down my back to drop with soft plops to the drain underneath my feet, where my toes alternated between resting and flexing to relieve the pressure on my arms and shoulders. The razor strop had been punishment--he’d left me hanging there for over a day, and I’d finally been forced to pee, tears of shame running down my cheeks as the warm stream went down my leg. He’d called me disgusting, slugged me in the gut, then the whipping began.

I’d learned not to beg or plead, he liked that too much.

I had to react, though. If I failed to, he’d escalate. The last time it had gone from cigarette burns to a straight razor. That had sent me to a public first aid clinic, where a dead eyed nurse practitioner had patched me up, stitched me, and asked if the guy who brought me in (Dumb Joey, one of his goons) was the one who did it. I lied, told her no, said it was my brother. The nurse didn’t really care--there were a half dozen other girls who needed stitching and there would be ten more tomorrow night.

And the night after that. And the night after that.

Mercifully, he’d forgotten about me and grabbed some of the guys to go find some fun.

Eventually, Purse came in. Percy was his actual name but I’d never heard more than that. Joker’d found him after he beat four counts of sexual assault due to evidence mishandling (the GCPD struck again) and the victim being the wrong color (not white.) He was a perv, I’d caught him leering at me when Joker wasn’t looking--not that he’d ever have acted outright. The Joker didn’t care about me, but considered me his--someone else touching me would damage his rep.

“It’s a shame, you’re too cute to fuck up like this,” Purse muttered. He dangled the key in front of my face, cackling when he saw me lift my head. He groped me first, and I cringed, a wave of nausea threatening to make me dry heave, but in his other hand was half of a bottle of water.

I hadn’t had anything to drink in almost two days. I was weak, dizzy, and my mouth was cotton from a total lack of anything liquid.

I crumpled in a heap when the shackles came off, and he laughed as he tossed the bottle to me. I gulped eagerly, hoping that by the time he came back, Joker would have forgotten and moved onto something else

Please let him forget.

***

Please let me never forget, I thought.

Ivy, Red, Mistress...was a Goddess. She had to be. I lay on my back, shivering, but not from cold. Oh, I was naked, but it was sultry in the little room. Lit only by dozens of candles, the warm, soft light glistened on our naked, oiled bodies. This was supposed to have been a massage, but somehow it’d ended up with both of us nude, slowly caressing the jasmine scented oil into our skin. She lounged on her side, looking down at me. The curtain of her red curls fell down, and the candle light shining through it turned it into molten copper. I gazed up at her in wonder.

She’d taken her time tonight, slowly exploring every square inch of my body, oiling it, leaving my skin slick and my whole core a hot, gooey, eager mess. I wanted her so badly, and the way she looked at me, touched me, kissed me, I knew she wanted me too. 

She ran her slender, warm hand up my midriff to cup my breast, taking her time to circle my nipple with the pad of her thumb, and I had to fight my moan. She could do that...make me go from zero to fuck-me-oh-god-please-fuck-me in approximately .2 seconds. “Mistress,” my voice was small, but her beautiful green eyes locked on mine. I squirmed and then, biting my lip and catching her hand with mine, guided it lower, back down.

“Harley?” she asked, lowering her face. I couldn’t help but drop my gaze to her lips, her perfect, pouty lips. She’d worn something dark tonight, a berry color that looked really deep purple, and in the soft golden light looked like a shiny black.

“Make love to me?” I asked, as shy as I ever got. I looked up at her through my lashes, and gasped softly when her questing fingertips found where I was guiding. I knew she could feel my heat, how wet I was. “Please?”

“Of course, my love” she kissed me, her lips parting, and eagerly I kissed back, letting her slide her tongue in to dance with mine. I parted my legs more, wriggling. “You are my precious,” she kissed again, this time moving down my jawline to my neck and stretching out along my body. We were both slick and we slid together, molding close until I wasn’t sure where she ended and I began. She was inside me, working me into a frenzy already, when she purred in my ear, breathless, “beautiful Harley. I’ll never let you go.”

When she was done, when I lay there, every muscle in my body aching, my pulse still racing, I held her close.

“I’ll never let you go, either.”

***  
“Goddammit, let go, Harley!” the Joker lashed out unthinking, the backhand only grazing me, but I still backed off. I’d only been trying to take his mind off the failed raid on the chemical storage warehouse, but he was in a mood. “You’re worse than herpes, Harley. At least that there’s a pill for, amirite, boys?”

It was the universal signal, and the gang all chortled at his joke, such as it was. I stood there, feeling more and more foolish in my see through little nightie. Joker was oblvious to me, and the guys would leer and make comments but no more, for obvious reasons. “Sorry, puddin,’ I’ll leave ya alone.”

He laughed, “Well, hell, if I’d known the back of my hand would shut you up I’d have started that years ago!”

More chortles from the peanut gallery.

I laughed weakly and started off, but he gave me a parting shot. “Oh, and boo? Better lay off the bacon, I’m seeing some cottage cheese. Much more and we’ll have to make you my new sidekick, Fatgirl.”

I froze. If anything I was underweight. He rarely ate himself and sometimes seemed to forget others needed food. I fought tears as I walked off.

***

I had the giggles. The movie was ridiculous, but Ivy’s caramel popcorn made it worth it. It was fun to eat, and she kept refilling it. Then I was throwing it at her. Then she was pinning me down and tickling me.

I was crying with laughter and begging her to stop. I had to pee. “Ok, late night breakfast for dinner?” she suddenly said, hopping up.

“BRINNER!” I yelled and raced after her to the little kitchen of her hideaway, where she started laying out breakfast food.

“You’re sure? If we eat this now, there won’t be anything left in the morning.” She arched a perfect eyebrow at me.

“No worries, we’ll just sleep in past noon. I got this on LOCKDOWN, Pammie!”

Soon, I was shoveling in bacon, sausage, perfectly cooked eggs. Ivy? Was eating a bit of cantaloupe and occasionally putting more bacon on my plate.

*** Now  
I sat huddled in the passenger seat of the car, idly fingering the rough, heavy, thick leather collar he’d put on me after tearing the pretty satin one off. For the first time in my life, in living memory, I felt hate.

I hated it. It was a metaphor for everything about my relationship with him. Ugly. Heavy. Painful. Uncomfortable.

I hated him.

He’d said he was ‘reclaiming what was his.’ It was ‘time for me to stop with the nonsense.’ If I ‘wanted to be dominated, he’d show me how it was done.’

I was sad for Pammie. She would think I’d left her again, just like all those times before.

I looked at him and for the first time, I think, I saw him as everyone else saw him. 

Horrible. Ugly. Cowardly. Weak.

He wasn’t Mr. J. Or Puddin.’

He was the Joker.

Things were different now. I wasn’t Harley Quinn, Joker’s gun moll anymore.

I was Poison Ivy’s partner. Ivy’s lover. Pammie’s sub. I knew she had changed as well. Poison Ivy had promised she’d never let me go.

Ivy always kept her promises.

“What are you staring at, Harls?” He asked it with false pleasantness.

A dead man.

“Oh, nuttin,’ Puddin,’ just happy ya found me is all.” I painted my best besotted idiot expression on my face.

He bought it. Most men did, and at the end of the day, whatever else he was, Joker was a man. A man who’d always underestimated me.

Satisfied, he turned back to the road and I looked away.

My Mistress was coming and together we were going to do what not even Batman could.


	7. Harley's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivy comes for Harley.

You can’t hide Harley from me.

I’d placed a small culture of bacteria behind her left ear years ago. All told, it was only a few microns across, was completely harmless, and Harley was totally oblivious to its presence, but that little collection of cells was my connection to her. I could track her anywhere through the Green, and so I had, finding myself on the outskirts of Gotham at an empty warehouse, once used for chemical storage. 

Economics had been destroying Gotham for decades, and the city was filled with empty and abandoned industrial apparatus. It was a breeding ground for crime, pollution, and urban decay, and it was fertile land for any self-styled supervillain wanting a hideout.

The Joker had led me here. As I stared at the building, I could sense him--no walls or buildings could hide my sense of the microscopic flora that lived in symbiosis with every human on this planet, and to me, they were as unique as a fingerprint. His I’d memorized years ago. He was with her, sitting with her. A dozen others were in the building as well, likely his thugs and probably armed to the teeth.

With guns.

Weapons of men. Weapons of cowards. No gun could stop me. 

Selina would have snuck in, bypassing them, getting to Harley and getting out without ever being seen. Batwoman would have surgically taken out the guards, silently, like a predator. Batman would have burst in, shock and awe, obliterating them with bone shattering frenzies of violence followed by a suitably dramatic showdown with the Joker.

I am Poison Ivy. I don’t sneak. I clenched my fists, ground my teeth. The Green was with me, flowing through me like a sweet river, fueling my rage. The plants around me quivered in anticipation--they were angry, as all plants in this urban blight were, and they knew soon I would take a small measure of vengeance against these men. 

I am dangerous at any time, but I’d been given time to prepare. The Joker thrived on being unpredictable and in control of the situation. He was a danger to Batman because he kept the Bat reactive, rather than proactive. It was time to teach him I am not Batman. I’m not reactive, I’m not merciful, and I’m well above him on the food chain. 

The front of the building came away like tissue paper. Men shouted. A few peppered me with small arms fire--pistols, sub machine guns, nothing major, and easily deflected. I caught one with vines and dismembered him, pulling him apart in a messy, showy, shower of gore that sent the others running in terror.

Cowards. What did they expect? How did they expect this to play out?

I followed my sense of Harley, passing through emptied vats that still reeked of the chemical corruption they once contained. To my knowledge, there wouldn’t be any chemicals left here, so why pick this place? It bothered me, a kernel of suspicion in the back of my mind, but right now, Harley was all that mattered. I’d dissect the motivations of a clown themed madman later, after I was done dissecting his body.

I went through a slightly ajar door with a pressure seal, one of those wheels used to close it, like you’d see in a submarine, and found myself in an empty tank. The opposite wall had a similiar door and a thick-paned observation glass--through it, I could see him, grinning. In the shadows, only the glittering of his beady eyes and the white of his teeth was visible, but next to him, on a leash, was Harley. She was afraid, shaking her head slowly.

“That’s far enough, Pammie!” He gleefully called out and put a gun to Harley’s temple. I stopped, not speaking. Clearly he’d planned for this. I needed more data.

“RED, run, it’s a trap!” Harley suddenly shrieked, and he grabbed a fistful of hair with his free hand and yanked her to the side. Instinctively, I started forward, the desire to rip him to bits with my bare hands paramount.

“Ah ah ah, I said that’s far enough.” I froze as he ground the muzzle into her. “That’s better.”

Harley looked miserable, her lip was swollen, but otherwise looked unhurt. He’d forced her into her old jester outfit, but without the makeup or hood. I could sense his small army of thugs surrounding the area, outside the tank, and one of them pushed the door closed, sealing it. The opposite door was pushed closed, trapping me.

“I have to say, you talk a lot less than ol’ Batsy. No orders, no deals?”

“I’m leaving here with Harley, and all of you will be dead.” I said it quietly, I was concentrating, calling out through the Green. I knew what was going on, and already had a plan.

He laughed, clearly believing he was in control. “Gotta love you, Pam. Never know when you’re beaten. So here’s the dealio…” he shoved Harley down. I saw three of his men come in--big, brutal types. Blackgate veterans--big muscles, prison tattoos, teardrops and swastikas. Not pleasant guys at all. “I’m gonna teach you what Dominant is. Now, you’ll notice you’re in a big metal tank.” He paused to giggle. “It’s an industrial strength dehydrator!”

I suspected something similar. I didn’t have many weaknesses and he’d done his homework. “I throw this lever, and you’ll be drier than the Sahara in seconds! See?” He nudged something on the control panel overhead, and suddenly I was hit with a wave of crippling, dry heat--agony for me, and I found myself on my knees, gasping. 

“Don’t you love it?! I’ll be able to sell you at whole foods to hipster vegans as a snack!” Harley had jumped forward, hands on the glass.

“Red!” She turned to Joker. “Please, Mistah J., don’t do this. I’ll come with you, be a good girl from now on. I promise!”

“Now, Harley girl, you’ve got a part to play in this. Y’see, Pammie thinks she can take what’s mine. No dice. So I’m gonna teach her who the Master is here. We’ll start with voyeurism…”

“W-what?” Harley was confused, not sure where he was going, but a glance at the three goons and I knew.

“Larry, Moe, and Curly here are going to fuck my Harley girl, Pammie. You’re going to watch.” His smile never faded, the cruelty in his eyes a living, breathing thing. “If you try to stop it, I shoot her.” He cocked the hammer back on his gun for dramatic effect. “If she fights back at all, you wilt.” He almost lovingly caressed the lever. The three goons leered at Harley, one of them began to unbuckle his belt.

“Harley,” I called out. “Remember what I told you. Whether or not you choose me, you always have a choice!”

The Joker laughed at that, closing his eyes and doubling over.

Time to get to work...

***

It was all my fault.

Ivy was going to die, and it was my fault.

I was cursed. I had to be. Everyone and everything I touched suffered because of my bad choices. I’d chosen to throw away my life to be with him. I’d chosen to turn my back on everything that made me human, to model myself after a heartless, soulless monster, and now I was going to watch him torture and eventually kill Ivy.

I knew, as a therapist, what he was doing. Crushing my hope, making me entirely dependent on him. For that, Ivy had to die, because she would always be a port in the storm for me, and he knew it. I’d brought her into this. I’d lived the beautiful dream--allowed myself to hope for something better--and now that beautiful woman would pay with…

I paused in my self hate.

I hadn’t really paid attention to the guys getting ready to rape me. I guess, somewhere, I’d already resigned myself to it, thinking I deserved it? It still surprised me a little that he’d just...offer me to other people as a sexual object--further proof that I didn’t really mean anything to him, I suppose.

The guy closest to me had just...stopped. Frozen, the blood draining from his face and one hand going to his stomach. The other two as well. 

“Harley,” Ivy called out. “Remember what I told you. Whether or not you choose me, you always have a choice!” I stared at her, doubled over with her head down in the center of the tank, but she looked up, and I saw her eyes glowing that eerie toxic green.

The glow that meant she was using her powers in a big way. She caught my gaze, and she winked at me.

Oh my God, I thought, we’re gonna win this.

“Joker.” I said. “I’ve thought about it, an’ I choose Ivy. Go fuck ya self.”

It was like a pin dropped. He turned from his laughter and stared at me. Behind me, the three would be rapists had fallen to their knees, clutching their middles, eyes bulging. 

“What did you just say?” he asked in a small voice, a voice that dripped with threat. Before, I would have cringed at that tone. I’d heard him use it too many times right before people died, horribly.

I stood, throwing my shoulders back, chin up, and looked him in the eye. “Are ya deaf or just stupid? I said I choose her. Ya ain’t got what it takes to be my Master.”

He pointed the gun at me, face still shocked. “Oh I think you’ll find…” He never got to finish that, because the three guys behind me exploded.

They went with a tearing pop, and suddenly the room reeked of blood and shit as their guts literally burst out of their bodies. Then, with a shriek of tearing metal, the door to the observation room was ripped away, and Ivy--Mistress--walked in. The Joker whirled, raging, and pulled the trigger.

The gun exploded in his hand and he shrieked, clutching it and falling back.

I was in her arms, and she was hugging me fiercely, before I could stop myself.

“I don’t...how did you?” I stammered.

“I was culturing the flora in his men’s guts from the moment I came in. I stimulated their growth until they grew too large for their environment. Messy, but effective. Oh, I did something similar with his gun, the moment he pointed it at you--cultured the bacteria on his bullet until it was an obstruction in the barrel and then hardened it.”

“I, just...that is so wicked cool!” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Also she was getting blurry because I was crying.

“Right?!” she said with a grin.

***

I had her back, she was safe, and I refused to let her go.

At our feet lay the Joker, holding the ruin of his hand and staring in shock. He wasn’t used to being out witted, and he’d certainly never expected it to be from Harley. 

“Harley, baby, wait a minute. Let’s talk…” he began. I’ll admit, for a half second I felt my stomach drop, terrified she might let him talk her into letting him back in, but Harley was stooping to pick up a dropped gun from one of the thugs. She thumbed the safety off and pointed it him.

She was a rock--gone was the weak, damaged little creature I’d resolved to help so many years ago. 

“I told ya, I choose Ivy. My Mistress. I don’t need ya anymore. Bye bye, ‘Puddin,’” and she emptied the magazine into his chest, blowing massive holes in his body.

“Well,” I said, “that settles the ‘can Joker really die’ question.” She tossed the gun away. “Are you ok?”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling, “I’m fantabulous! It’s like this huge weight is off my chest. Let’s get Thai food!”

Thai sounded perfect.

***

I arrived late on the scene. The power surge coming from the warehouse had set off an alert from the Batcomputer, and satellite imaging showed me at least a dozen armed individuals in what should have been an empty building. By the time I got there, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn were exiting through a massive hole in the wall, arm in arm. I swooped down, causing Quinn to jump and Ivy to scowl at me.

“Ladies.” I stood slowly.

“Jeez Louise, Bats, ya scared tha shit outta me.” Quinn stuck her tongue out at me, ever the child in an adult body.

“What am I going to find in there, Ivy?” I asked. The images of armed men had turned into big splotches of heat on the visual, and I already knew what I’d find.

“A lot of very bad men, rapists and murderers, died. Something they ate, I think. And the Joker is dead. I’m not a vigilante, or a hero, and I don’t apologize. I’m taking Harley home now, unless you’re going to try and stop us.”

Quinn let go of her, put her fists up. I looked, really looked, at Quinn. Busted lip, limp, exhausted, possibly shock.

I looked, really looked, at Poison Ivy. Relieved, happy, looking at Quinn with affection.

“I’ll check it out. Take her home and treat her. You’re right, Pamela, you’re no hero.” She nodded, tossed her head like a queen, and tucked Quinn’s arm in hers, leading her off.

As they left, I couldn’t help the slow grin.

“Yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this series. I plan to do a little epilogue too, but this is the finale. Thank you for reading, for commenting, and I hope you enjoyed it.


	8. Epilogue--Cycle of Love and Dominance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people are meant to be together. BDSM may be the trappings but love transcends the boundaries of the multiverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming along on this ride (HA!)
> 
> See if you can guess who the surprise PoV character is in this chapter!

I could barely believe I was here.

After telling off Bruce Wayne, one of the wealthiest men in Gotham and the actual Batman, caped crusader, vigilante, founding member of the Justice League, and self-styled ruler of the Gotham vigilante crowd, I honestly thought my options were dried up. Who was willing to openly defy the will of Batman (who wasn’t a regular resident of Arkham?)

Turned out it was Catwoman.

*** Then

“Hey there kiddo.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I was perched on one of the many gargoyles in Gotham, right on the edge of narrows, desperate to do something without stepping on one of Batman’s army of little vigilante puppets. So focused on the street below, I’d had no clue Selina Kyle, Catwoman, was near until she landed without so much as a whisper of sound and spoke. Seriously, she could give lessons in stealth to the Bat himself.

“Oh! Hey Selina.” I stammered, and she grinned, using a clawed hand to lift her goggles up onto her forehead.

“Little out of your normal territory, aren’t you?” She asked, making herself comfortable--as comfortable as someone could be on a weathered stone monster. Like her namesake, Catwoman didn’t seem to have actual bones.

“Well, I kinda burned some bridges--”

She laughed. “Oh, I heard. Good for you by the way. Even at his best, Bruce is an insufferable, sexist dick. I promise, you’re better off.”

I gave her a look and shrugged. “Easy for you to say. I feel like I have to do something, but now I’m kinda on my own here, Selina.”

She stopped laughing, gave me an odd look. “You don’t have to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Batman isn’t the only game in town, sweetie pie. You know what, I have this thing to go to tomorrow night. It’s...kinda different. Maybe not your normal scene, but it will be fun, maybe a little romantic, best food in Gotham. I’ll introduce you to some people who don’t care who your father was or how much you pissed off Batman. In fact, they’ll find it pretty damn amusing, I’m sure.”

I had an inkling as to who she was talking about, but glancing down at the street, knowing there was no backup, no cave, no Alfred, no Tim--I was tired of being alone. “Ok, I’m in, I guess.”

“Great. But first, what do you know about, uhm, BDSM?”

***Now

Here I was, kneeling, on a beautiful silk cushion with my hands clasped behind my back, watching Poison Ivy--glamorous, deadly, powerful, sensual Poison Ivy--carefully fasten a suede collar around the neck of Harley Quinn--unstable, ditzy, adorable, wired Harley Quinn. It was surreal, the way Ivy was gazing at her, with so much love in her eyes. Harley gazing up at her, biting her black-painted lower lip, almost shy, as the collar went on. As she did, Ivy was saying something that almost sounded like wedding vows. 

_“This is a perfect circle. It’s eternal, and it's perfect, just as the love and trust we share is. Where you end, I begin. Place your trust in me and I promise to always keep you safe, protect you, care for you. You will be mine, from now until forever. I will be yours--your Mistress, your lover, your best friend. Will you accept me, my Harley?”_

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. The way they were looking at each other...I could only hope someday someone would look at me like that. I glanced at Selina, who was standing to the side as a witness. She was in a fetishey version of her working outfit, all shiny black latex (her costume was matte--it drank light rather than reflected it,) with kitty ears and a kitty tail and seven inch stilettos rather than her normal work boots. A collar with a bell on it. That, too, was surreal, but seemed, somehow, fitting? Her eyes were glassy with tears. 

This was all strange to me. They were strange to me, but, somehow right? Selina’d told me I didn’t have to participate, just hang out and relax, no pressure, just fun company--but if I wanted, I was welcome to the cushion. I don’t even know when I’d made the conscious decision to kneel. Ivy’d told me I was welcome in her crazy, sexy voice--seriously I’ve always considered myself pretty straight...maybe a little experimenting here and there, what girl hasn’t, but her turning those intense eyes on me and purring in the sexiest voice, male or female, I think I’ve ever heard, “Make yourself comfortable, darling, but,” and she looked at me like something she wanted to, I don’t know, _devour_ , and lightly caressed my cheek, “if you kneel on the cushion, we’ll consider that consent and include you in the after party,” made my whole middle warm goo. The ceremony had barely started when I settled on my knees. 

Selina smirked at me, came over with her bell tingling lightly and put her lips to my ear to whisper. Her warm breath gave me the shivers, but what she said made me shiver more. “Keep your back straight and chin up, hands clasped behind you, and be attentive to what the Domme says. Speak respectfully unless you want to be punished--punishments can be fun--but remember there is a line and be careful not to cross it...oh and only answer or speak if you’re given leave. Be careful--this can be more addicting than heroin. A good Domme, and Ivy is the best, will leave you panting for more. But, remember, here, you’re safe, you’re welcome, and you’re loved. Good luck.” She pecked me on the cheek and went back to her spot…

I could see Harley was trying not to cry, but they were happy tears, and one had already escaped, tracking down her face. She couldn’t stop smiling, and she murmured, “Do ya even have to ask?”

It must have been some private joke, because Ivy laughed, though it might have been a sob. Maybe a mix of the two? 

It was so hard to reconcile the fact that this Harley is the same one who’d finally killed the Joker, after so long. I’d heard Bruce was in extreme brooding mode now, but Gotham’s social media had declared a city holiday, and Tweeter had triggered several flash mob parties. Ivy and Harley were suddenly borderline heroes in the eyes of Gothamites...

_“I accept this perfect circle. It’s eternal, and it’s perfect, just as the love and trust we share is. Where I end, you begin. I place my trust in you and I give myself to you, my love, my body, my soul. You will be mine, from now until forever. I will be yours, your submissive, your lover, your best friend. I accept you, if you will have me, Mistress Ivy.”_

The collar was softest suede, black, with little red diamonds. A small charm dangled, shaped like a leaf, and the inscription read simply, ‘Ivy’s.’ Ivy clicked it closed, and then she pulled Harley close, kissing her. 

Then Selina was cheering and they were hugging. So much love, and here I was, quietly watching, wondering how it was the ‘villains’ were like this and other than Alfred, maybe Babs, the cave, the heroes, were so...cold.

Then they turned to me. My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest and my lips suddenly felt dry. I don’t know if I’d ever felt more terrified. Selina looked amused, Harley looked almost manic, and Ivy looked...hungry.

I was also super turned on. Wow, how did THAT happen? Ivy turned to the other two.

“Selina, come sit with me. You’re sure you want to do this, sweet pea?” She had her hand on Harley’s shoulder, as though she couldn’t stop touching her. Harley smiled and nodded.

“I do. I wanna try. You’ll be here if I have any questions?” Harley was touching back, almost petting the gown that clung to Ivy’s lush curves, a gown that looked like a leaf. _They can’t stop touching each other,_ I thought. _I want that…_

“Of course.” Ivy glanced at me, her look sultry but not unkind. “I want to watch you with her.”

“Ok, I got this, Mistress.” Harley turned to get something. Ivy walked to her throne, sitting and crossing her legs, all elegant glamour. That throne, man. It was like she grew it out of a single piece of wood, but it was covered in soft foliage and flowers, like a living Iron Throne from that show Tim and I watched together. It fit her. Next to it was a big, plush cushion, and Selina strolled over to it, settling down to lounge next to Ivy, draping an arm over the other woman’s leg and laying her head there. Ivy idly dropped a hand to stroke through Selina’s short hair.

Harley returned, and in her hand was a riding crop with a leather pad shaped like a diamond. That was quite a sight, Harley dressed in what I could only describe as goth fetish schoolgirl--black and red pleated skirt, sheer red blouse with a black bra underneath, torn fishnets tucked into knee-high, wedge-heeled boots made of shiny black leather, and her hair in her trademark pigtails, one tip dyed red, the other black, carrying that crop. She stopped in front of me, stooped, and said, “Hi there. Are ya ready to play a little?”

I know my eyes must have been bugging out of my head. She giggled.

“Hey, it’s ok, honey bunny. Ya can say no. No judging here. But I have ta hear ya say yes, ok? Consent is super important.”

“I...uh...yes.” I said it in a small voice. She bit her lip chewing on the bottom one in a very appealing way, her eyes twinkling. She has big eyes, a beautiful shade of blue it’s hard to look away from. She really is sexier than you might think--way more approachable than the Goddess. I felt like I needed to squirm.

She used the pad of the riding crop under my chin, making me look up at her. “Ok, listen. If ya feel like too much is happening, say the safeword. It’s ‘Plantains.’ Can ya remember that?” I nodded and she shook her head. “Say it.”

“Plantains,” I mumbled.

She giggled again. Behind her, I could see Selina had sat forward, her eyes smoldering, and Ivy was smiling affectionately at us. Despite the audience, I don’t know, I could feel my self-consciousness slipping away. They were into this. They were supportive--not even remotely mocking.

“Plantains, what?” She asked, running the pad of the crop along my shoulder. I swallowed nervously, again.

“Plantains, Mistress.”

“Oh goody! Yer a fast learner!” I smiled up at her, relieved.

“Now what should we call you? Batgirl? Robin? Spoiler?”

“Stephanie...uhm...my name is Stephanie, but call me Steph.” I paused. “Mistress.”

Harley grinned and stood. “Welcome Steph!”

Selina cheered again. Ivy said, “Steph, what do you like on your pizza, for aftercare?”


End file.
